A Breath of Fresh Air
by Aslan's Lamb
Summary: This is an Amish romance story set in modern times. Esther has just returned from living at her grandmother's to a community that does not understand her. There are rules and the Amish never break rules without consequences. She challenges young minister Amos Lapp to do something unusual and maybe even a tad rebellious.


**Chapter One**

Amos Lapp stopped the horse and buggy and dropped by Sweet and Glazed Pies. It was a beautiful spring day in the small town of Chestnut Falls.

He recognized her almost immediately, the late Jonas Fisher's oldest daughter, Esther, standing behind the counter in her dark blue cotton frock. She'd been away for a while. If he remembered correctly, she'd been in high school, which caused plenty of gossip at all the barn raisings and quilting gatherings. For a young girl to continue her schooling into high school was mighty unusual. He remembered seeing her briefly at her father's funeral two years ago but then she'd disappeared again.

"How can I serve you today?" Esther's light hair was braided and coiled at the back of her head and her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. Amos wondered whether he'd even known the definition of the word "pretty" before.

"I'm getting some pies for my great-grandmother, she's too frail to do much cooking nowadays. I got a list here somewhere." Amos reached into his overalls' pocket. "That's right, here it is." He read off the list. "One apple pie, one pumpkin cranberry and one rhubarb." He put the list down on the counter. "It's nice seeing ya again, Esther."

Esther studied the list. "That's a good list. Only that's a mistake." She went to warm up the pies.

Amos frowned. "What's a mistake?"

"That's not how you spell 'rhubarb'," Esther said, coming back. She dried her hands on her apron.

Amos frowned. It bothered him to see her standing there criticizing the spelling of people that he knew, for a fact, were smart as a whip. "I think my great-grandmother knows how to spell 'rhubarb.' She's read plenty of cookbooks."

"Guess they were written by people who can't spell either," Esther said. She punched some numbers in the cash register. "12.95 please."

Amos pulled some change out of his other pocket. "You used to be a polite girl, Esther. You never corrected your elders."

He'd meant it as a joke but it came out sounding like a scolding. Esther stared at him. "You're hardly my elder, Amos Lapp. I had boys in my class your age."

Amos winced. "I'm one of the ministers in this community. So you studied with the English?"

"Mennonites, a lot of them," Esther said. "Not as plain as us and not as fancy as the English."

"Plain and fancy don't come in degrees," Amos argued. Now he was getting riled up. "You're either Amish and dedicated to serving the Lord, or you're not. There is no in between."

"Yes," said Esther. She smiled again. "Kinda like spelling. You can either spell or you can't. Here are your pies."

Amos took the pies. He was halfway to his horse and buggy before it occurred to him that he hadn't even said 'thank you' he was so taken aback. What young girl talked like that? No respect, no manners…And to _him_? He going to be the bishop next autumn, just finishing up his studies.

How _did_ you spell "rhubarb" anyway? And why did the girl who spoke to him so rudely _have to_ be pretty as a picture?

After a twenty-minute walk home, Esther opened the door and hung her apron up on a hook. She'd need to wash it tonight to have it ready for tomorrow morning. She could smell the potatoes her mother was frying up in the kitchen but she just wanted fifteen minutes to herself before going in there to help her. She glanced towards her bed. Underneath it, on the floor, she had her flute. The one she had bought up in Beaver Falls where she had stayed with her grandmother while going to high school. But the sound of flute music would hardly be welcome by anybody in this house. Nobody would want to hear it tomorrow morning before church either. No matter how early she got up, everyone would be busy, washing up and getting ready and it was considered sinful to play the flute.

"But I only play church songs. Isn't that all right?" Esther had asked.

Her mother had sighed. "Jeremiah wouldn't be likin' it. And he's a quiet man. He might not say so but he wouldn't be likin' it."

To Esther, that made things so much more frustrating. If she was making someone unhappy, she liked to be told straight-out. But Jeremiah was a man who just looked grave without saying anything. How was she supposed to know if he hated the flute with a deadly hatred or if he was willing to overlook it?

When she had left to high school four years ago, she had left her dat's house. But her dat passed away and she returned to a stepfather she had never gotten the chance to know.

She straightened her bedcovers and her mind went back to their encounter with Amos Lapp that morning. The way he had stared at her…he must have considered her a perfect heathen. Esther chuckled. She'd probably scare away all the boys in this county with her sharp tongue. But she couldn't help it. That was just the way she was.

She left the flute in its' spot and walked down stairs. "Shall I make apple dumplings, mama?"

Ach!" Her mother put her arms around her. "It is good to have you home, Esther. And if you learned one useful thing up in Beaver Falls, it was how to make good food."

"Yes, grandmother showed me how to cook all right," Esther said. She sighed. She personally believed she had learned quite a few interesting things up in Beaver Falls. But here, nobody really cared about the learning of the English.

Amos looked through his notes. The bishop was letting him speak for ten minutes this morning. He generally slept badly the night before he had to speak to the community and today was no exception. His stomach was in knots. It was such a responsibility to be telling people about God and telling them how they ought to live…he prayed about it, sure, but he still shook every time.

When it was his turn to go up to speak, he noticed Esther, sitting with her mother and sisters in the third row, her flaxen hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head. She fixed her eyes on Amos and Amos felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.

What did she have to do with his nervousness? _Absolutely nothing_ , Amos told himself. She was quarrelsome. And the Bible warned against such women.

He spoke from his heart. He stood next to the bishop at the end, shaking hands with the parishioners who were filing out. When Esther saw him, he extended his hand to her as well. "Glad to see you coming to Sunday meeting, Esther Fisher."

"Thank you," Esther shook his hand. She had small hands for a girl who had to pound dough into pies all day.

Amos turned to the next visitor, Becka Yoder, a lady in her seventies. "It is wonderful to see you here, Becka. Shall I be takin' you home in my buggy?"

Becka Yoder chuckled. "Thank you, young man. I've had six offers to be brought home today. I reckon you're all achin' to get a sample of my blackberry jam."

"Well." Amos laughed too.

"So you're going to be the next bishop soon?" Esther asked.

"Bishop Daniel Stoltz is going to be overseein' my work for some time," Amos said. "But yes, I was voted next bishop at the last community meeting."

"Oh." Esther's green eyes sparkled. "Can I ask you something then? As the next bishop, you must have an opinion."

Amos felt his hands going to his pockets, the thing he always did when he was feeling just a bit uncertain. He restrained himself from that. It didn't look respectable. "Did you ask Bishop Daniel Stoltz first?"

"I'm asking _you,_ " Esther said. "The English in this area are havin' a country fair. They're doing games and rides and raisin' money for some sick kids down at the hospital in Beaver Falls. Do you think I should donate some pies to their pie-throwing game?"

Amos frowned. "Fancy games don't really go well with the way the Amish live."

"I'm not interested in games, I'm interested in helpin' the kids."

"It's hardly _your_ pie shop though, is it? How would you donate anyway?"

"I'd pay for them out of my salary. They'd be _my_ pies to do what _I_ like with then. What I want to know is whether you think that's a gut thing to do."

Amos hesitated. It was unusual. A bit crazy really to do a thing like that. "Ask the bishop."

Esther looked at him and then looked down. When she looked up again, her interest was gone. "Well, that was a disappointing answer. But thank you."

Amos reddened. She thought he was a coward. "Esther, wait…"

But Esther had already turned around and walked away.

As Amos greeted members of the congregation, he kept glancing over to where Esther stood with her five little brothers and sisters, her mother and stepfather. He wanted to somehow explain that a minister wasn't supposed to have his _own_ opinions about the conduct of young men and women in the community. That was what the Ordnung was for, a set of rules to make things clear and easy. And the Ordnung said that they were to keep themselves separate from the world. But only…Esther's idea sounded wonderfully reasonable and compassionate. Which failed to make things clear and easy at all.

Esther finished milking and patted the cow on her brown velvet back.

"Thanks for the milk, Hattie," she said. She set the milk jug down and glanced at the door of the barn. Perhaps, she could sneak a moment in now…she carefully pulled her flute out of the pocket in her button-up coat. She brought it to her lips and played. It was an old Mennonite song that she'd learned last year, a psalm from the Bible put to music, and it sounded like the sunset.

When Esther played, she forgot about everything.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the barn, carrying the jug of milk, and helped her mother set the table. It was almost six in the morning and she'd be heading over to work soon.

Her stepfather, Jeremiah, came in and sat the kitchen table. "Good morning, Esther."

"Good morning, stepfather Jeremiah."

"Do you…enjoy working at the pie shop?"

Esther stared. What an unexpected question. "Oh, I truly do."

Her mother, meanwhile, began breastfeeding the baby in the armchair in the corner. She had a shawl spread over her shoulder for modesty.

"Hmmm." Jeremiah looked grave as always.

"Does that trouble you?"

"It's possible you might be troubled by the English folk stopping by the shop. I just want you to know…you don't have to work there. You've got me to watch over you, provide for you, just as your dat did, 'till you marry."

"Oh!" Esther felt warmth spreading through her. "I like to work, I really do. And since I'm a bit outspoken…"

She heard her mother laughing from the armchair. "A bit?"

"Not sure I'll be marryin' anyone anytime soon. So I'd prefer to stay where I am."

She spoke frankly, but the words "just as your dat did" echoed in her mind and made her feel welcome.

She began her early morning walk to the pie shop. Halfway to the shop, she saw a horse and buggy standing there. Who in the world could be there this early? She hadn't even baked any pies yet.

In the next moment, Amos Lapp came out of the buggy. "Esther."

Maybe it was her cheerful mood but today, he looked even more strong and handsome than yesterday. She blinked and looked away. Too bad Amos Lapp wasn't much of a _person_. He was kind of fearful, really.

"Good morning."

"I've been thinkin' about what you said about the pies. I think you should donate them after all."

"Oh?" Esther looked back at him. "Well. That's a nice bit of advice. I think I will."

"Will somebody be pickin' them up?"

"I was hopin' that the English lady who told me about the country fair might drop by again. I'd give her the pies and ask her to take them over."

"How do you know she will?" Amos asked. "You don't know, do you?"

"What can I do?" Esther unlocked the shop with her key. " _I_ can't take the pies over myself and I won't be botherin' my stepfather about it."

"Let me do it then," Amos said. "I've got to help dad on the farm some but I'll be back around three."

"I…" Esther's cheeks flushed pink. "I was sharp with you last time you came here, Amos. May I tell you I'm a bit sorry?"

"Oh?" A playful look came into Amos's eyes. "A bit sorry? Or truly sorry?"

Esther put her hands on her hips. "Does it matter?"

"It matters very much."

"Fine! I'm truly sorry." Esther stomped into the shop and reached into the icebox for the butter.

By the time returned, she had baked and sold sixteen pies, a fine day's work. Amos had a wooden box with him to put the pies in and he smelled like hay and wood shavings.

"Shall I take them over?"

"I'd like to come," Esther said, wiping down the counter.

"Uh…do your parents know about this?"

"Does that matter so much?"

Amos leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "What rebellious ideas did they teach you in that Mennonite school?"

"Actually, they taught us that girls were to always ask our parents about everything. I was a bit strange even for the Mennonite school." She washed the rag she had used for the counter in soap and hot water as she talked. "But strange or not, I could always make the other girls laugh."

"Do you miss going to school?"

Esther paused. Nobody had asked her that since she came back. She believed her mother saw the whole thing as a waste of four years' time and her stepfather probably agreed.

"I miss…I miss the freedom. I lived with my grandmother. She let me walk places by myself. She let me play my flute."

Amos tried to speak softly even as his voice betrayed his surprise. " _Your_ flute?"

Esther nodded. "Yes. But I've just told you this because I trust you, Amos. Please don't take it to other people."

The rode in the buggy in silence.

Esther was reflecting on what she had said and she was already beginning to feel red-hot anger at herself rising inside. Why had she told Amos so much? All he had to do was bring the information to Bishop Daniel Stoltz or to one of the other ministers. Then, she would be ordered to repent of her music.

Why didn't she keep her mouth shut?

When they reached the fair, they saw a few tents and tables being set up by English men and women. They began to smell mysterious scents in the air. One of the smells was definitely corn of some kind, but there was also something sweet. A man in a wide-brimmed hat, wearing English clothing, was setting up what looking like a water-shooting game with small dolls attached to poles. The dolls had brightly painted faces and Esther turned away uncomfortably. The Amish never drew human faces on _their_ dolls and she found the sight in front of her jarring.

"I'd like to donate a few pies," she said. "There's a pie throwin' game, I believe."

The man studied her curiously. "Thanks," he said. "But we're not doing the game."

Esther stared. "Why?"

"Our target didn't show up."

"Your target was a living person?"

"The whole fair is run by the Parent Teacher Volunteer Society from the school over on the hill. Our target was a parent. He called me up today and said he was ill. In bed with a fever. We've got a lady running the game but nobody to throw pies _at_."

Amos rubbed his beard. Well. That was it then. They'd tried. He turned to Esther, who stood still, arms folded and eyebrows raised. "Why can't someone replace him?"

The man chuckled. "Nobody's willing to do it. People will sign up to be in charge of throwing and shooting games, to sell popcorn and cotton candy, but nobody wants a pie in their face."

"But the kids up at the hospital need money. See…my dat had cancer. That's what some of these kids have. If we don't help them, who will?" Esther stopped talking because she realized her voice was beginning to shake a bit.

The man shrugged. "What do you want me to do? I got a game to run. Want to play it and donate some money?"

"I haven't got any!" Esther snapped. "I've only got pies to give."

Amos stood still a moment. Then, he took off his hat. "Here, hold this."

"Why?"

"I don't want it covered in pie. Now, where's the game? I can be the target for a couple of hours."


End file.
